


News from Umbar

by baranduin



Series: Courtyard of the White Tree [10]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Epistolary, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the Courtyard of the White Tree universe. Frodo writes to Sam about a trying period in his and Faramir's lives. This fic is unfinished and likely to remain so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dearest Sam,

I meant to tell you about ever so many things this time, but oh, the day I've just had! Well, I shall sneak in some of those dried little pig mushrooms--I know how you liked them from the last time--into the packet I'm sending you, so I know you'll forgive me if I whine and moan to you a bit. I think I'll pretend we're at the Green Dragon and having a good long talk.

Poor Faramir.

I knew something was wrong first thing this morning when we got out of bed. Usually he's so lively and cheerful that I'm hard put to it not to bite his head off at the slightest provocation. Not today. He said he hadn't slept well and was just a little tired, but he could barely drag himself from the bedroom to the kitchen. If I hadn't known better, I would have said he had taken more wine last night than was good for him; his eyes were all puffy and squinty, as though he could hardly bear to keep them open. For a moment, he reminded me of all those Grubbs and Chubbs who had to be carted away in a wheelbarrow the night of Bilbo's Birthday Party. I almost made a jest to that effect--that is, until I looked into his eyes more carefully and saw the pleading look that folks get when they're coming down with something.

When we sat down to breakfast in the kitchen--Lilas having outdone herself as usual in the victuals spread out before us--Faramir just sat there, staring at his overflowing plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and fried mushrooms and potatoes. Such a perfect golden crust on the potatoes this morning, crunchy and with just the right amount of salt to sweeten the soft insides! Almost as good as you make--but not quite. Lilas grows more proficient in hobbity cooking every day though I'm sure she still thinks me mad for wanting such an enormous meal at the beginning of the day. It's not exactly the Umbar way of eating. Oh. I must tell you that Faramir is getting a bit of a round belly though I try not to tease him about it. Not _too_ often, that is.

"Faramir? Why aren't you eating?" I asked finally when he showed no sign of stirring. Thinking that he had a fever--his face was quite flushed about the cheeks and eyes--I scooched over a bit and started to swipe my hand across his forehead.

He stopped me with a quick grasp of my wrist. Hmph. Nothing wrong with his reflexes! "I'm fine. Like I said … just a little sleepy for some reason. I must have tossed and turned too much last night. Hope I didn't disturb you." He smiled when he said that last bit, not that his attempted obfuscation worked on me. Not a bit. After all, I _am_ his elder.

Picking up a glass of orange juice--oranges! Sam, you would love them, I know you would. They're a little like lemons in form and texture, but they're much larger and rounder, and much much sweeter on the tongue. Oh, yes, and they have a sort of pumpkin color though much brighter. They grow on trees, and I shall try to send some saplings to you. Don't know if they'll do well in the Shire, but if anyone can make them thrive, you'll be able to. Maybe in the Southfarthing.

Where was I? Right. Faramir picked up his glass and swigged the juice right down, which turned out not to be exactly the best course of action for he went rather pasty all of a sudden and set the glass down with a thump. I swear his hands were shaking.

"I think you need to go back to bed, and I shall call for the healer," I said to him.

"No, no … I must be off. I've meetings all day with Hallas and some wine and oil merchants."

"Fiddlesticks--wine and oil can wait! I will send word to Hallas that you are indisposed. Off to bed with you."

Well, that made him terribly cranky. He fairly growled at me--"Don't fuss, Frodo!"--then stood up, though I'm telling you he was hard pressed to keep on his feet. Before I could stop him, he wobbled off through the house and out the door, slamming it shut behind him, though I don't expect he meant to close it so forcefully. Now, you know what good posture Faramir has, but when I watched him walk off with his shoulders all slumped and his feet dragging, my heart sank. But he's a stubborn one. And don't you laugh at that, Samwise Gamgee. You know it takes one to know one!

Seeing as there was nothing for it, I finished my breakfast and a bit of Faramir's too. I was that hungry! No reason to see it go to waste, and especially since my own appetite has been somewhat lessened lately. I was a little ill a few weeks ago. Nothing much, nothing to worry about, but …

After helping Lilas with the dishes and seeing her out the door as well--she's gone off south for a few weeks to help a younger sister who will be having a baby soon--I had the house to myself. It's funny, you know. This big stone house of mine is nothing like Bag End, nothing like it at all, and yet it's my home as sure as the sunflowers and nasturtians and snap-dragons bloom outside Bilbo's study window every summer.

We have nasturtians here too, you see. I've been growing them in big clay pots on our terrace, and they trail down and twine around the balustrade in orange and yellow and red blossoms. That's where I went after Lilas left, out on the terrace to do some painting.

I don't think I told you that I've taken up painting. Water colors so far. It was Hallas who introduced me to it one day when Faramir and I were having lunch at his home. It's hard to explain, but the brush in my hand feels so friendly and nice. Not that I'm very good, but I do enjoy it.

There's a sort of ramshackle shed leaning against the house in one corner of the terrace. Room enough for me to store my easel (Faramir and Beregond made it for me though they had to start again when Bergil tried to make some _improvements_) and paints and canvases and brushes. For some reason I haven't had any desire to paint anything but the sea view from the terrace. The waves. The changing colors. Where the blue of the sky meets the white-capped green of the sea. So on nice days--which is most days here--I go outside and see what I can see, and then I see what turns up on my canvas.

It felt especially good today as I hadn't been able to find the time to do any painting in the last couple of weeks. I know it was selfish of me, but I shrugged off my disquiet about Faramir as I looked out from my perch. We're so high up here on a cliff and set a little bit south of the main part of the city, perhaps a half-mile or so, far enough so that it's very peaceful and quiet. Especially at night. I paint the waves during the day and listen to their song at night.

I don't know why, but I never get tired of watching the waves, watching the sea in all its moods and shifting colors. I get quite caught up looking out to sea--too much, I'm afraid, though I don't mean anything by it. Sometimes Faramir teases me that he's hard put to it to compete with an ocean--that another man or woman would be one thing, but that there's nothing to grasp onto with an ocean as a rival. He always says that in a light, jesting tone, but he gets this tight look around his eyes. It almost looks like he's pleading with me for something, but he's too proud to say it and I never know what to say back to him to make him feel better. The only thing I can think of is to turn away from the water, turn toward him.

Whew! I don't know what got me onto that. Sorry.

I looked about for a few minutes, and what do you think I saw in the harbor? THE SHIP. Yes, the very one. You see, I've been waiting for it to come back. I'd started to paint it a few weeks ago, thinking it would be docked for quite a while, but it only stayed one day. I was so disappointed the next morning when I came outside eager to continue and instead saw a dinky little thing in its place.

Oh, it's a grand ship, and very unusual to my eyes. The harbor is a very busy place; there's scores of ships coming and going every day. But this ship is the only one of its kind, the first one that I've wanted to paint. There's something about its low graceful lines that made my fingers itch to try to capture even the smallest hint of it the moment I saw it. It has a black hull and silver sails--I expect the sails are actually dove grey but they do shine a bit in the sun.

So a few weeks ago I started painting it, and I've been waiting for it to come back ever since it hoisted anchor and sailed away without notifying me! I wasted no time in rummaging through the shed and pulling out the unfinished canvas, getting things all set up. Men were swarming on its decks and on the dockside, unloading crates and barrels though I've no idea what the goods are. In no time at all, I was happily daubing away.

I was so engrossed in mixing my paints and applying the layers of color that a couple of hours sped by and I didn't hear Faramir come back. And I certainly wasn't expecting him so soon, though considering how he seemed when he left, I don't know why I was surprised. Anyway, a scrape of a chair against the pavement of the terrace startled me just when I was concentrating on placing a white highlight on the ship's black hull. I must confess I swore a mild oath since the noise made my stroke go astray--I was most put out since I knew I would have to go back and try to correct it.

When I turned round, I saw Faramir sitting there. He was staring at me with such a dull gaze that it gave me a fright. Needless to say, I forgot about my silly painting and hurried over to him. How pale his face was beneath his golden tan.

"My head hurts," Faramir said, though his voice came out in a mere croak.

"And more than your head, by the sound of you." I pulled his head down and touched my lips to his forehead–it was hot and damp with sweat.

"It hurts to swallow."

"Does it? Come on, then … into bed with you and I'll go for the healer."

This time he knew better than to argue with me. He stood up in jerky stages, leaning against the table for a moment and breathing hard. "It just came on so fast."

"Sshh .. come on, lean on me."

I'm thankful to say that for once he obeyed me, and we made our way slowly to the bedroom where I got him undressed and into bed.

The healer--oh, dear. I must stop for a bit, Faramir's calling and his voice sounds worse. I'll try to continue later tonight if I get a chance. I want to tell you all about the healer; he's quite outlandish to my eyes but very competent and kind, I'm sure, though I don't think Faramir cares much for him.


	2. Chapter 2

~ Late the next morning ~

We spent a long, restless night, so I haven't had a chance to get back to this letter until now--and it's close on noon already. But I've managed to get more of the medicines left by the healer into Faramir and he's sleeping soundly--at least for the moment.

I think you'd approve of what is bubbling on the fire right now--a fine, not too hearty chicken soup. Bergil and Rian were here early this morning to ask if we needed anything from the market, bless them, so I sent them off to see what kind of fowl they might find. (They're both taller than me now--Rian is growing beautiful though she pretends to get angry at me when I tell her.) Two beautiful pullets, freshly plucked and just crying out to simmer for an hour or two. Or is it three? Well, I'm watching the pot carefully.

It's a simple soup, with just some onions, celery and carrots to strengthen and flavor the broth. A few dried mushrooms though they will come out once the soup is done and all their flavor leached out in the cooking. Oh, yes, and a little salt. Mustn't ever forget the salt! After the chicken is tender, I'll pull the meat apart into shreds and then add some noodles though not too many since Faramir doesn't need anything heavy on his stomach. I love him dearly, but I don't mind admitting I would prefer not to have to clean up any more regurgitations. I have already decided that he shall have another dose of the ginger tincture before I feed him the soup.

Did you like the noodles I sent you with my last package? I don't remember if you mentioned them in your last letter, and I must confess I'm too lazy to go dig it out of our study. The noodles going in this soup have the same ingredients as what I sent you--just flour and water … a little oil, I think--but have a different shape. These aren't long and thin, but are small and pinched in the middle to look like little bows. The Umbar folk call them butterflies, for they sometimes like to put a fanciful name to something simple.

The weather is a little unusual today. A fog rolled in from the sea overnight, though our house is sailing above it in the sunshine. It's the oddest thing, Sam, though you might smile at me for being so sentimental. After we'd been here a couple of months, Faramir thought we should have a name for our house, so I came up with Sea Dream, and my view today makes it seem so apt. A clear blue sky above with not a cloud in sight--a sea of pearly mist below--the two of us tucked away here so cozily together …

Oh, bother! Here I've been going on about chicken soup and dreamy views when I should be picking up from where I left off last night or I'll never catch up. Where was I? The healer.

His name is Kharam, and he is not an Umbarian. In point of fact, he is from Harad, and the only one of that country I have ever met, though his kinship with the men we saw in Ithilien is very clear, at least in physical form. I don't know how he ended up in Umbar, though I do know he's been here for close on twenty years and is considered the finest healer in the City. We're fortunate he lives close to us. Faramir knows a few things about him, but he's been very stingy about doling out the information--it's most irritating and I don't understand why he's been so cagy when I've asked.

As a matter of fact, Faramir was quite testy with me while I was getting him undressed yesterday afternoon, which certainly didn't help me. Do you know how heavy just _one_ of his legs is? Fortunately, he wasn't incapacitated so much as irritated at not feeling well--and apparently irritated that I was going to fetch Kharam.

"Who are you going to go get?" he asked while I knelt beside him on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. I was glad to get it off him, for it was damp with his fever sweat.

"Well, Kharam, of course."

He grabbed my wrist. "Frodo, it's really not necessary. All I need is to lie down for a few hours and catch up on some sleep."

"Nonsense! You have a fever, your throat is sore, and I know your stomach is unsettled …" I shook off his hand and continued undressing him, hauling up one leg and then the other to draw off his trousers. Don't mind telling you I was relieved he was wearing loose Umbar-style trousers instead of tight leggings. Made my task a little easier.

When he tried another tack with me, that got my suspicion flaring! He said in what I'm sure he thought was a calm, measured tone, "Frodo … Kharam is a busy man. He … he's probably not even at home. Don't waste your time going there. Why don't you go to Hallas and ask him to arrange for someone else … that is, if I can't talk you out of this since it's really not necessary."

"Shh … let me get your nightshirt on … oof, you are a great, huge thing, aren't you?" When I had him tucked under the covers, I sat back on my heels and observed him for a minute. His eyes were glittering with fever, I tell you, and there he'd been rattling away, trying to talk me out of fetching Kharam! "What are you going on about? We always use Kharam when I'm ill, and I see no reason for any change, especially considering how close he lives to us and what a good healer he is. You don't like him, do you?" I'm afraid I narrowed my eyes at him right about then, which really put him on his guard. Most irritated at myself I was, for I had been thinking I might be able to tease out a little about what makes him so uneasy about Kharam. Instead, my eagerness did nothing but make him retreat.

He lay back and rested the back of his hand across his eyes, looking quite pathetic, I must admit. "It's not that," he muttered. Though I knew he was obfuscating more than a little bit, he truly did feel wretched, poor thing. I don't think I'd seen him that ill since Minas Tirith, and though I intended to take as good care of him as he does me, it was a little frightening to see him so shaking and weak.

After I got him a little more comfortable with a cool cloth over his forehead and a basin close to hand in case he needed to vomit while I was gone, I left the house and hurried up the road. I hated leaving him alone, though I didn't think his illness more serious than a cold and knew I would not be gone longer than an hour or so. Anyway, there was nothing else to be done, so off I went.

It was a warm, clear afternoon and would have been perfect for a leisurely walk if I could have spared the time. Kharam lives about two miles from us, and while I had never been there myself, Faramir had--more than once to fetch him when I've been unwell. I think sometimes Faramir goes to get him when it's not truly necessary, but stopping a Gondorian with the bit between his teeth is not the easiest thing to do. He frets about me. Though maybe I shouldn't say anything considering I do the same thing. As a matter of fact, I think he might have used the same words that I did the last time--"busy man … don't waste your time … probably not at home …" Just the same.

Like I said, it was a fine day, and I had the road to myself as it wound further up the hill away from the City. I walked past the grand house--a palace, actually--where Aragorn will stay when he comes to visit and on until I reached a dusty track barely wide enough for a cart to pass. Fortunately, Faramir had pointed out the road to me on one of our evening rambles, so I found it easily.

Though the track was narrow and dusty, I found it pleasant to feel the soft dirt beneath my feet as I hurried along beneath the shade of tall cypress trees standing sentinel along both sides. After about half a mile I came to a high wall--high even by Men's standards. It was an ochre color and seemed freshly painted to my eyes, all in all a well-maintained structure with many vines of dark green leaves and yellow blossoms trailing over its edge. In the middle of the wall was a gate, not terribly wide but at least seven feet tall.

I stopped a minute to stare at the gate--between you and me, its sheer size made me a little nervous. That and the strange shapes upon it. The gate was made of iron wrought with the shapes of two loosely-entwined serpents facing each other across a rayed sun. I don't mind telling you, Sam, that it gave me quite a pause just to look at it. I was a little afraid that I wouldn't be able to open it, but the gate yielded very easily though with a long, loud creak.

When I let go of the gate, it slammed shut behind me and I must confess that I jumped a little. Then all was silent, and that seemed even louder. I gave myself a little shake and started down the winding path to the house. On the left was a veritable jumble of flowering bushes and plants, some recognizable and others unknown to me. A carefully arranged herb garden grew on the right side, and as I walked quickly down the path, smiling a little at the lobelia growing between the old, worn stones (stamping on a few of the clumps, I don't mind saying), a multitude of scents rose in the warm air. Floral and astringent. Pungent and delicate. All most assuredly under the care of a knowledgeable herbalist.

The house is painted in the same pale ochre shade and is encircled with a covered portico, which must keep it nice and cool during the high heat of summer. Other than the arched columns supporting the portico, the house appeared very plain to me, with all the windows shuttered tight. Once I reached the door--heavy, dark wood with no markings upon it that I could see--I knocked. After a minute, I heard footsteps approaching and the door opened.

It was Kharam. Though he drew back a bit, as if surprised to see me, he recovered his composure quickly and, opening the door wide, gestured with one arm for me to enter. I stepped into a broad entry hall, cool and dim after the brightness outside, then turned around and faced him. He bowed, touching his fingertips lightly to his forehead.

"You do my poor house honor, Mr. Baggins. How may I be of assistance to you today? Are you unwell?"

I can never decide whether his eyes or his voice is more interesting, both being deep and rich and unfathomable. Whenever I have seen him, he has always had a dark cloth wound loosely about his head, which makes his eyes even more striking. Today was no different, though for the first time (probably because, for once, I was not unwell when seeing him and so could attend to details) I noticed how rich the fabric of his clothes was--all in a dark blue that put me in mind of the Mirrormere.

All this seemed to run through my mind in a flash, but in reality I must have stood there silently before him for several seconds. A flicker of something in his eyes--amusement, I'm afraid to say--reminded me to find my tongue.

"Thank you, Kharam. I am very well. It is Faramir who is ill today. Will you come see him?"

With a nod, he answered. "Yes, certainly. Immediately, in fact. Come into my library while I arrange some medicines to take with me."

He led me through the hall into a large room at the back of the house, his long robes sweeping along the tiled floor with a whisper. He called it his library, but it seemed more like an office, library, parlor and laboratory all rolled into one and taking up the entire width of the house.

I'm afraid my mouth must have fallen open in amazement, for he laughed. "Feel free to look around while I prepare my bag."

Well, you know me and books, Sam! Though there were ever so many nooks and crannies to explore, I was drawn first to the books--thousands of books in cases reaching to the high ceiling and in stacks on the floor. All very clean and well-tended--_not_ like the archives at Minas Tirith though I expect Aragorn is having that restored.

While I poked among the books, casting a glance over at Kharam every now and then, he quizzed me on Faramir's condition.

"Has he vomited?"

"No, though I think he might."

"And you say his throat is troubling him?"

"Oh, yes … he's having trouble swallowing, but I think his head is hurting him the most right now."

"Fever?"

"Yes, and rising I think. He was warm this morning, but it seems more advanced now."

With each answer, Kharam nodded and chose a selection of medicines to pack into his bag. I've always been rather fascinated with his bag whenever he's come to attend on me. It is large and made of maroon leather finely tooled on the outside in a sort of swirly pattern picked out in gold, but what has always most interested me is the way it does not just open at the top. It can fold down on the sides and has numerous brackets and compartments where he can store a variety of objects securely. Leaving off browsing among his books, I watched him as he snapped glass vials into the brackets and slipped small bags into the compartments. He smiled at my interest and shrugged.

"I am much attached to my satchel, though I suspect it is more elaborate than what I usually require."

"Wherever did you get it--in Harad?"

His smile faded at that, and he looked away for a moment. When he turned back to me, his smile was firmly in place though it looked tight and forced at the edges to me. "No, indeed, Mr. Baggins. I had it made to my specifications in the City--and there were many fine artisans from which to make my choice."

Well, of course. How foolish of me. I knew he had been here for many years, and certainly the bag did not look terribly worn. Not knowing what to say, since I knew I had stirred up something in him, I wandered over to a desk to hide my embarrassment. Except for a few papers stacked neatly on it next to an inkstand, there was nothing on its polished surface but a plain clay jug containing two branches of cypress.

"Oh. I've never seen cypress branches displayed this way. Are you fond of their scent?"

He did not answer me, instead busying himself with closing up his satchel, and I was sure I had misspoken again. Picking up the bag, he walked over to me and gently brushed his hand over the cypress leaves before looking at me with a softened expression I had not seen before.

"They are … to remember. Shall we go?"

And I was speechless again, so all I managed to do was nod and follow him out of the room.

The house had been so quiet that I had assumed we were alone, but as we neared the front door, a shriek rang out, followed by two creatures--one animal though I had no idea what it was and one young man in hot pursuit.

The animal was the size of a small dog, though it did not look like one. I didn't know what it was, Sam! It was covered in pale tan fur with darker fur around its face and paws, and though it ran across the floor on all fours, it jumped on me and held me fast around my neck as though it was a little person. And wrapped a very long tail around my arm. The young man lurched toward me to save me from the creature, though it didn't seem violently inclined toward me. I wrapped my arms around it, and looked into round eyes bright with intelligence.

Kharam's laugh rang out. "Momo, how very rude of you! I do not think Mr. Baggins invited you to jump upon him in such a fashion." He clucked a little under his breath but made no move toward me. Indeed, he waved the young man back.

"Wh-what is it?" I asked, amazed but no longer alarmed for the little creature snuggled against me as if we were good friends.

"He is a monkey, and a rather naughty one at that. His companion is Belen, my apprentice. Belen, this is Mr. Baggins."

Belen grinned at me and nodded. "Oh, yes, I know. I've seen you sometimes in the marketplace." After casting a quick glance at Kharam, who raised one eyebrow, he bowed low to me and made the fingers-to-forehead motion. "Pardon me. I am most honored to make your acquaintance, Mr. Baggins."

Though I was hard put not to burst out laughing, I restrained myself and answered him formally. "And I yours, Belen. I will look forward to seeing you in the marketplace."

During our little conversation, Kharam stood silently watching us with a small smile curving his mouth. After I finished speaking, he said, "Belen, please take Momo. Mr. Baggins and I must leave now. Captain Faramir is ill, and I must attend to him." Belen's eyes lit up, and Kharam raised his chin, looking down on both of us (for Belen is not nearly as tall as Kharam). "I shall undoubtedly return in time for your anatomy lesson. It is ready for my inspection, I assume?"

Belen nodded. "Yes, Master." Though his expression was grave, when he took Momo from me, he gave me a quick wink. "And, Mr. Baggins, please come back and visit some time. I'm sure Momo will be glad to know you better, as will I."

"Thank you. And, please, call me Frodo."

Another quick glance at Kharam, who nodded. "Very well. Goodbye for now … Frodo."

With that, we left Belen and Momo in the hall. As the door shut behind us, I heard the monkey chattering away excitedly and, frankly, Belen chattering back. "Yes, Momo, that was the famous Frodo I've told you about. I hope he comes back."


	3. Chapter 3

As we left Kharam's house, I wracked my brain for what in the Shire we might talk about on the walk back, but he turned out to be surprisingly companionable. Don't really know why I was so surprised. He chatted with me about this and that—how he'd planted the row of cypress trees when he first moved into his house years ago and how straight and tall they've grown, that sort of thing. Plus you know how it is, Sam. A journey to some new place seems to take forever and the return only half the time.

It seemed like hardly any time at all had passed when we arrived home, but when I went to open the front door, Kharam stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

"This is new since last I attended you."

I backed up a step and followed the direction of his gaze to the small painting hanging above the door—my painting of the view from the terrace.

"Oh, yes … it is new. I gave it to Faramir for his last birthday."

It was a little strange to see Kharam smile, but I cannot say I was displeased at his apparent approval of my work. Oh, Sam. I worked on this painting for so many hours, wanted to make it perfect for Faramir. I knew just the aspect and time of day he liked best and so wanted to try to capture even a glimpse of it for him—bright sunny afternoon, looking out to sea but not too far. You can't imagine the trouble I had with keeping the whole thing a surprise, and he _would_ keep coming home at odd times of the day when I least expected him. Though I must say that, after the first time that happened, I devised a method for quickly switching canvases so he would not see it before his birthday. Nevertheless—I was certainly on the look-out the entire time I worked on it.

He liked it when I gave it to him, oh yes, he did. I'd tell you exactly what he did, but I'm blushing as red as one of the flowers from Bilbo's favorite rose bush just thinking about it, so I'll spare you the details.

I didn't tell Kharam that I was the artist, but after a minute of glancing between the painting and me, he touched his fingers to his brow in that way he has. "I did not know you were so gifted with the brush, Mr. Baggins, but I see now that it is so. A very fine present indeed. You have captured the quality of the light, I think, just so."

"Thank you! How ever did you guess?"

Kharam waved his hand, tracing an ascending spiral in the space between us. "It was not a guess, absolutely not. After a moment, it became clear to me that such a thing could only have been created by one person … and that person was most definitely he who was standing before me."

Oh, Kharam does have the ability to make me feel tongue-tied, and I don't mind telling you that I find it most irritating! And since I do not know him well and he spoke in such a solemn tone, I had no idea that he might be jesting with me. So I stood there a moment, more than a little flummoxed at his apparent skill to discern artistic talent from thin air—rather like how the Gaffer always knew when you were off somewhere having larks with me instead of weeding even though he was easing his aching joints at the Green Dragon for the afternoon. (Not that I was able to tempt you away from your duties very often, especially since your duty was also your joy. Still is, I'll warrant.) Well, it was a lucky thing that I happened to look down and see the bright traces of paint on my fingers before I opened my mouth and asked him if he was a mind reader (which did not seem completely unlikely at the moment). Of course. I'd rushed off so quickly when Faramir had come home that I hadn't even taken the time to wash my hands—or change my shirt, which I now saw was also decorated colorfully from my morning's exertions.

I folded my arms across my chest and looked up at him. "That's a fine talent you have as well, Kharam …" That was as far as I got before I burst into laughter.

"Your pardon, Mr. Baggins. The opportunity was, as they say, irresistible." Though Kharam did not join in my laughter, nevertheless the smile that spread across his face was the freest I've ever seen. And I believe I even saw a small twinkle in his dark eyes.

After managing to quell my merriment, I reassured him that no apologies were necessary. "No matter. That was very clever of you. And, please … do call me Frodo."

Kharam inclined his head. "I am honored, Frodo. Perhaps some day it would please you to try your hand at immortalizing my poor house … if you find yourself in need of new inspiration, that is. I think you might even be able to persuade Momo and Belen to pose for you without too much difficulty."

Well, that was a surprise! And I wanted to. Suddenly I wanted to very badly. "Thank you. I will."

"And now … shall we see how Faramir is doing?"

He appeared to be alive though just barely from the look of him, and he groaned piteously when we came into the bed chamber. I congratulated myself for having left the bowl close to hand, for it had been used in my absence–repeatedly. Not to put too fine a point on it, it was almost full to the brim, though I'm sure I don't know where it all had come from, especially considering I had eaten most of his breakfast.

One glance from Faramir's bleary eyes, and I felt ashamed of myself for having enjoyed my time with Kharam. And I'm ashamed to admit to you that, though I know you'll forgive me, for a few minutes while I was at Kharam's home I had even forgotten about Faramir being ill. But just for a few minutes … and I always knew he wasn't deathly ill. Anyway, I'll make it up to him, and you won't tell on me, will you? Just like I never tattled on you to the Gaffer!

"Were you sleeping?" I asked him as I hurried to the bed. The sooner I got that basin of sour-smelling vomit emptied into the slops bucket, the better we would all feel, I suspected, for the aroma was far from appetizing. Poor Faramir, having to lie there smelling all that nasty stuff on top of already feeling so poorly. And all that time there I'd been lollygagging away at Kharam's, poking amongst his books and meeting Momo, while my poor Faramir was … well … I should have been quicker.

Bless him. He smiled at me, though it was a weakish, pallid sort of thing, and he covered his eyes with the back of his wrist. "I slept a little … not much …" He shifted his arm a bit and squinted at me with one eye while I climbed onto the bed and pulled the reeking basin toward me. Nodding at it, he said softly, "Sorry … couldn't help it." I knew from the way his lips barely moved when he spoke that he was fighting back another wave of nausea. After touching my lips to his forehead, which seemed even hotter than when I had left him, I slipped off the bed—with great care for I held the basin in my hands and it, well, its contents sloshed about most perilously. Though the bed is certainly tall for me, we keep a footstool on either side that makes it easy for me to get in and out. Little did I ever think I would bless the presence of that aid for this particular reason, but I did at that moment!

"Sshh … don't worry, I've brought Kharam with me. He'll have you feeling better in a trice."

As I hurried away with my noisome burden, Kharam approached Faramir and began talking with him in a low voice. By the time I returned from the bathing room, drying the cleaned basin with a fresh cloth and carrying another damp cloth to place on Faramir's brow, Kharam had begun his examination. I hurried to the bed and climbed up on it to help in any way I could—and give a little moral support.

Faramir was sitting up and leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. The hem of his nightshirt was pulled up and over his shoulders to give Kharam a clear expanse of bare skin on which to place his listening horn. I don't think I've mentioned this before, but whenever Kharam attends on me, he always uses a rather interesting instrument to listen to my chest. It's funny, Sam, if I hadn't had the thing used on me rather often and instead had just seen it sitting on a table somewhere, I would have thought it was some sort of musical instrument. Actually, it looks quite a bit like that horn Bilbo blew at his Birthday Party to get everyone's attention when he was trying to give his Speech, though this one's quite a bit larger.

That reminds me—I should send one to Rivendell. I'm sure Bilbo, not to mention Elrond, would find it most interesting. And the Warden at the Houses of Healing—don't know why I haven't thought to have one sent to him too. Well, once Faramir is recovered and I have some time, I shall arrange it with Kharam as I'm sure he'll be able to tell me where I might find more or have them made. No doubt he'll have the specifications. Shall I send you one as well?

The instrument is a narrow tube about one foot long and made of a honey-colored wood that feels like silk when I run my hands around it. Hollow throughout, one end bells out in a horn-like shape – this is the end that Kharam places on bare skin. Once he gets it positioned to his satisfaction, he presses his ear to the other end and just listens, as he was doing now with Faramir, moving the end back and forth across Faramir's back, speaking occasionally.

"Deep breath, please, and hold … and release."

Though there was little I could do to assist, I kneeled close to Faramir, stroking his arm. His hair screened his face, which was frustrating for I could not tell how he was really feeling without seeing the expression in his eyes.

"Cough, please."

Well, I am no healer, Sam, but I can tell you that I was very happy when the cough Faramir produced was a very uninteresting thing indeed, without phlegm or depth. Though of course he might well develop one later on.

"Thank you … lie back please. I must listen from the front now."

I'm afraid Faramir sat up too quickly, for as soon as he lay back against the pillows, he called out, "Quick … the bowl … please …" and I was hard put to it to get the basin balanced beneath his chin before he vomited. Just a bit of thin yellowish liquid for there was nothing else left in his stomach by then. That's when I got frightened, Sam, truly frightened.

"Kharam," I said while I covered Faramir's brow with the cool, damp cloth, which he seemed to like as well as not. "Can you not give him something for his stomach? What's wrong with him?"

"Do not be troubled. It is but a common cold, I believe, though I will tell you that such repeated vomiting is a little unusual."

"But you don't think it's something else, something dangerous?"

"It is unlikely. I think perhaps Faramir overtaxed himself earlier today by going about his business when he should have stayed home–which undoubtedly brought on the initial bout of vomiting. While it is not so common to see vomiting with a cold, in the early stages a general feeling of sickness is prevalent. Hence vomiting is not out of the realm of possibility–and after the first time, sometimes that starts something which is difficult to halt. Do not worry, my friend. I will give him something for it. And now, I need your assistance if you do not mind. Please boil some water while I finish examining him."

"Very well." I squeezed Faramir's arm and he smiled at me weakly as I slid off the bed. "I'll be back in a minute."

And I'm afraid, Sam, that I shall have to break off here for a few minutes. I think my chicken soup is ready, and I don't mind telling you that it smells delicious. I hope Faramir is hungry a little bit, but I _know_ that I am. Writing long letters is hungry work!

More later. Something very odd happened as Kharam was getting ready to leave. How I wish you were here to puzzle it out with me …


	4. Chapter 4

~ Two days later ~

It was absolutely delicious, if I do say so myself, Sam. And though I know the savor of the broth is highly dependent upon the quality of the fowl, I also realized as I spooned up my third bowl that I owed much of the flavor to you. Or rather to your advice around the proper seasoning of soups and stews and suchlike dishes. Not too much and not too little—just enough to make your taste buds blossom a bit in proper gratefulness, as I remember your mother saying to me a time or two. Do you remember that, Sam? Of course you do; you learned it from her.

And lest you think that I kept all that deliciousness to myself, let me assure you that I did not and that Faramir is possibly enjoying it even more than I have been. Or at least he is today now that his throat is not so sore any more (and his nausea has gone as well, I'm relieved to tell you). Fortunately that part of his cold seems to have passed though he's terribly stuffed up in the nose and going through clean handkerchiefs as fast as a baby goes through diapers. I keep thinking I'll ask him to pretend to be Bilbo in Dale and give a birthday speech, but I haven't quite gotten up my nerve.

Interestingly enough, as the sharpness of his symptoms are abating, the sharpness of his mood is increasing. Between you and me, I don't think he cares for having to stay in bed and has turned into a bit of a growler. He was quite put out when I brought him a bowl of soup for his lunch a little while ago.

"Frodo, I told you to call me when it was ready and I would come to the kitchen to eat. After all, I'm not exactly deathly ill though you persist in treating me so."

Though I'm writing that as though he said it all in one fell swoop, believe me, it didn't come out of his mouth that way. His throat may not be so sore any more, but his voice is terribly hoarse and everything he says comes out in squeaks and rasps. I do wish he'd use more of the lozenges that Kharam left—all full of honey and lemon and something astringent that's suppose to soothe him.

I must say, it's quite difficult to get him to take _any_ of his medicine. Oh, he was docile enough a couple of days ago when he was feeling so dreadful and had a high fever. I think I could have given him a cup of bubbling mud and he would have drunk it down without even a peep of resistance. I'd even go so far as to say he was grateful for what Kharam and I dosed him with initially, especially since the medicine made him sleep soundly for a good four hours.

It amazed me at the time that he didn't refuse since the smell was not exactly pleasant. Actually, I recognized it from having taken the draught myself in the past, and believe me, the taste is even worse than its smell. It's the bitterness that is so nasty though Kharam told me the willow bark which gives it that taste is exactly what helps to lower the fever, so I suppose I shouldn't complain. But, honestly, you would think that healers would have determined a way to make their medicines not taste quite so foul. Sometimes I think that Kharam and Gandalf must be related as their potions are equally revolting.

But I'm afraid Faramir was feeling so poorly when Kharam first examined him and parceled out the medicines that he didn't complain even a little. I remember thinking that all the fight had gone out of him when I brought him a cup of the concoction that I had brewed at Kharam's direction. But I was wrong. Faramir did have a little energy left, and in a way that surprised me in its intensity.

After he'd drunk down his medicine—gulped it really, I think to make it go down faster—he flopped back against his pillows and just sort of lay there with his eyes all dull and puffy. I popped one of the lozenges in his mouth and prepared to see Kharam to the door.

As Kharam and I started to leave the room, Kharam put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Perhaps I should examine you, too, Frodo. Let me feel your forehead."

I turned round and faced him, lifting my head for him to touch, thinking nothing of it. Though I haven't come down with a cold (touch wood that I don't), still, it seemed likely at the time. Kharam bent down and touched his lips to my forehead. That was a little odd as he had always just rested his hand on my head in the past, but it wasn't that unusual. Plus I didn't have time to ponder its hidden meaning, if there was one.

"Don't!"

Kharam and I both jerked away from each other and looked over at Faramir. He was half out of the bed, one leg out and the other still snarled in the covers.

"Faramir!" I'm afraid I shouted at him and hurried to his side, pushing him back under the covers. He was shaking and sweating from his sudden effort, but he kept his eyes on Kharam, who stood by the door, his face impassive and still.

I started to go back to Kharam, but Faramir held me back. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't let him touch you too closely."

It was no time to give into the alarm I felt at seeing Faramir so disturbed, plus I was sure that some of it was just coming from a mixture of his fever and the medicine he'd drunk. So I gave him my best sensible hobbit look complete with pursed lips and said, "My love, you're terribly feverish. Do please just lie back and let me take care of you. And you know what a good healer Kharam is. He would never hurt either you or me." I raised my eyebrows in what I felt was the proper chastising but gentle manner.

He stroked my cheek with a trembling hand and nodded. "Be careful. You don't know what I know."

Though I longed to say, "Well, yes, but only because you're very close with that information," I did not want to say anything like that in front of Kharam. As it was, I was already very embarrassed and just wanted to ease the situation along. So I said, "There are many things you know that I know nothing of." I realized that was a poor thing to say, but I could not think of anything else at the moment. Fortunately, Kharam interposed himself at that moment.

"I shall leave you now, Frodo. Send for me if he worsens. Dose him with the brewed medicine every four hours though do not wake him in the night if he is resting well. His throat should begin to improve in a day though he might lose his voice, so do not be alarmed at that eventuality. I shall return tomorrow afternoon to check on him ... and you."

I smiled over at Kharam and nodded my head in thanks.

He bowed low with his hands lightly touching his forehead. "I shall show myself out. Do not worry, Captain Faramir. I intend no harm to Frodo or you and am well aware of the sins that I bear."

And with another bow, Kharam turned and left before I could bid him farewell, not that I would have been able to say anything since my mouth flapped open like a slackjaw. After I heard the front door shut, I regained a little of my senses, shook my head and returned to Faramir, ready to grill him to within an inch of his life about what Kharam had said. At the moment, I cared not that he felt miserable.

Unfortunately, he was fast asleep, breathing noisily through his open mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

~ Same day, nighttime, the only sounds are the nib of my pen scritching on the paper and Faramir's snoring ~

 

Well, Sam, I don't really know how to say this, so I'd better just scratch it out as fast as I can and have done with it. Not that I'll be done with thinking about it for a long while, but perhaps writing it down will help me sort it all out a bit. It certainly can't hurt for I'm as confused as I've been in a long while.

Faramir slept on and off the rest of the day—and indeed most of the two days since Kharam visited us. Though I wanted to question his peculiar behavior, I hadn't the heart since he felt so miserable. Actually, I even wondered if he remembered saying such outrageous things to Kharam. I've come to find out today that he did.

He woke this afternoon after dozing rather noisily for a few hours. How that man makes a racket when his nose is stuffed up, rather like a bellows huffing and puffing with a few saws working away for extra effect! I soon tired of watching (and listening) so repaired to our study to work on my book. The Fellowship has almost arrived at Moria, not that I'm relishing writing that part, even though it all comes out well eventually (except for the Balrog, of course).

I was so deep into recollection and writing that I didn't hear him come into the room until he slumped down with a groan at his desk opposite me.

"Oh! You're awake!" I said. More than a little obvious, but he startled me.

"Yes," Faramir said. He leaned back in his chair and stared at me a bit, drawing his robe about him for he still shivered with fever.

"Er ... do you need anything? Are you thirsty?" I asked. His stare was a little unnerving though I put it down to nothing more than the effect of his being ill and full of medicines.

"No, Frodo. I need nothing though ... I realize I need to explain my behavior and words to Kharam."

I didn't smile. Oh, truly I didn't, Sam. Well, perhaps a little bit of a smile but I kept it mostly inside, if you know what I mean. Anyway, if I did crack a smile, it must have been faint enough for Faramir not to notice and take offense. To encourage him, I nodded but said nothing.

"I realize I've not been very forthcoming about what I know about Kharam." He raised his eyebrows and sat up a little straighter when I could not restrain a very delicate snort from escaping. "As I was saying, I realize I should not have been so, well ..." A short coughing fit that didn't sound very natural interrupted his admission. After he regained control of himself, he smiled at me and pointed to his chest but did not resume talking.

Well, it seemed only right to help him along a bit. If I do say so myself without any corroboration from Faramir, it seemed to me that he was actually asking for my assistance, albeit silently. "Er ... stubborn ... secretive ... pig-headed ..." I stopped when he raised his hand, laughing a little.

"Thank you, Frodo." He gestured toward my open manuscript. "I suspect I asked for that, giving such a large opening to a writer."

Oh, he surprised me there, Sam! I've never thought of myself as a writer, not really, though I don't mind telling you it gave me a little warm glow that I've never felt before. It felt good. Not that I was interested in letting him know at the moment, considering that it would probably mean he'd wriggle off the hook once more with respect to Kharam.

I shut my book and folded my hands on top of its red leather cover. "Enough with your dithering, Faramir. Either tell me what you've come in here to tell me, or go back to bed and I shall bring you some tea and toast and you can tell me there. I'd prefer the first though I don't mind hearing what you have to say while you're in bed. And of course I don't mind fixing you something to eat if you're hungry ... after all, it's been several hours since you've had anything and you must rebuild your strength. However, either way, you're going to finally spit it out and put both of us out of our misery. Well?" I gave him my best stern Baggins look and to my complete astonishment, it worked.

In a meek voice, Faramir said, "It's just that I know you've grown fond of Kharam, and I'll not deny his skill as a healer. We've been lucky to have him here, but he makes me nervous."

"But why? What has this poor man done to make you act like one of Farmer Maggot's hounds whenever he comes around?"

"I'll thank you not to compare me to a dog, Frodo Baggins," Faramir said and I have to confess that I wish I hadn't for he got that "I'm from Gondor and I have Numenorean blood in me, I'll have you know" look on his face. Oh, it's very vexing to me when he does that. Makes me want to take him down a peg.

"Your pardon, Faramir. You are not a dog, though you do growl on occasion. But I shall snap like one myself if you don't just spit it out fair and square. I do swear, even Sam's Gaffer could get to the point quicker than you have today."

"He killed his family," Faramir said and we both fell silent. He stared at me, and I stared at him, and there wasn't a sound to be heard, not even Faramir's congested breathing. It almost seemed like those four simple words formed in the air between us, thick and substantial ... and utterly nonsensical.

When I finally managed to speak, my voice was sharp with disbelief. "But how? How do you know such a thing? He is a healer, not a murderer."

"I know. It is hard for me to grasp, too. But I have heard it from very respectable sources."

It is true that I do not know Kharam well at all. Most of my meetings with him have occurred while I have been ill and not terribly observant. I have been to his home once and then only for a few minutes. But I could not reconcile the brief glimpses I have had of his life and character with what Faramir was telling me. It made no sense. Though I tried to keep my voice clear and calm, I'm afraid I blurted out my next words.

"It's abominable, Faramir, and I don't believe it for a minute! You're going to have to do better than tell me these vague accusations to get me to believe such a thing. And I'm surprised at you, too. You're usually such a good judge of men's hearts."

Faramir's fond smile told me that he found my bristling response most amusing—oh, not in a bad, disrespectful way. The thing is, he likes to see me get riled up on occasion, says it does him good to see me passionate about things. Especially him, though I'll spare you the details.

He held his hands out to me, palms up, and shrugged his shoulders. "I know, Frodo. It is unbelievable to me as well. But know this, my love. I have heard it from the very mouth of one who was well-placed to know the truth. In point of fact, I have met Kharam's brother-in-law from Harad, and he told me many things." The pleasant look on Faramir's face faded, and he turned his eyes away from mine, as though he did not want to look on me when he continued talking. "Terrible things, full of dark deeds and evil alliances. I'm afraid our healer was once in league with Mordor, and it was at his Master's command that he slew his wife and child."

Oh, Sam, the more Faramir told me, the less I could believe it. It was as if each additional detail he revealed made it that much less likely that it could have happened. I have looked into Kharam's eyes, and I have seen sorrow and regret but not evil.

I said, "But was not all Harad under the sway of the Dark Lord?"

"True, though some to a lesser extent than others, as this man apparently was."

"Is he here in the city now?"

"No. He was with the trade delegation that was here not long after we arrived. He is a respected merchant."

"Ah. Then he cannot be questioned."

"Frodo. Even Kharam's words from a few days' ago bear witness to what I have heard from others. I know it is difficult to believe, but believe it we must. There was no lie in this man's eyes when he told me. But can you now understand why I find it difficult to tolerate Kharam being near you?"

And I could. Oh, yes, I could. Faramir is nothing if not devoted to me. I mentioned in jest to him that he reminded me of dear old Farmer Maggot's dogs, and it comes back to me again how loyal they were to him. Only the Ringwraith ever swayed them from their duty, but I don't think that would ever have been the case with Faramir.

It's late now. Faramir is sleeping soundly and, fortunately for me, not too noisily. I believe his congestion is beginning to clear up. Yes, Faramir's been sleeping and I have been thinking. Whatever evil deeds Kharam has (or has not) committed in his life, he has been a good friend to both Faramir and me.

You know, Sam, I was checking the supplies of herbs and medicines that Kharam left with me and they're running low. While Faramir is on the mend, nevertheless I don't like the thought of running out of supplies when he might still need them. It makes me worry in case he might have a sudden relapse tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. He has a strong constitution, but he's not indestructible.

I think I shall take a walk tomorrow morning, or better yet, in the afternoon. Faramir's been napping most afternoons. Be good to stretch my legs. It's been several days and I'm beginning to feel the lack of a bit of exercise. I might even take some sketching supplies with me.

I'll be sure to let you know if I see anything interesting.


	6. Chapter 6

~ The next day, late afternoon ~

 

You know, Sam, I do believe I'm beginning to resemble my aunt Dora in the length of this letter, though I don't think I've offered as much (unwanted) advice as she regularly sent to Bilbo! I never meant this one to go on so long and certainly intended to get it in the post the day after I began it, but I also never expected such interesting goings on. At any rate, I will make some sort of stop to it by the end of this week, for Faramir will be sending a report to Aragorn then and this letter shall go with it, to eventually make its way even farther north and I know safely to you. Do you know I like to think of the different stages this letter will go on, now that the King's messengers can ride through the land without fear?

I have just returned from a visit to Kharam's and it was very instructive if not completely revealing. I'm afraid the mystery of Kharam's past is not going to be solved without more effort on my part. And don't fold your arms and purse your lips like that, Samwise Gamgee. I know what I'm doing here. Or I will, once I do it, that is.

A little past noon, I managed to slip out of the house after giving Faramir his lunch and tucking him back into bed for a nap. I _did_ leave him a note on the kitchen table, telling him where I'd gone though I thought I'd most likely be home before he woke.

It was a fine clear day, and I was glad to get out of the house, even with a slightly guilty conscience of what I was planning. When I got to Kharam's, it turned out he was away from home, but Belen invited me in. In case you don't remember my mentioning him (it has been quite a few pages), that's Kharam's young assistant from Umbar. And I don't mind telling you that I wasn't exactly sorry that the master of the house was not there. I thought perhaps Belen might be a little less alarming to tackle for a start.

Belen was very welcoming. "Please enter, Mr. Baggins; you are most welcome to this humble establishment," Belen said as he bowed at the front door and swung it wide open, Momo clinging to his neck. That's the little monkey that lives with them. If I remember, I'll try to do a sketch of the creature; I know you'd like to have a look at him.

"Thank you!" I replied. "But it's Frodo ... just Frodo."

A little twitch between his eyebrows told me that perhaps his master had given him a lecture about how he should address the patrons. I did not like to make things difficult for Belen so I did not press the issue, but instead told him why I was there. Well, not the real reason or not all the reasons!

"Belen, I've run out of the medicines that Kharam prepared for Faramir."

"Oh, I hope he is not worse?"

I smiled. I like Belen; he has such an open, merry face. If he weren't so tall (and his skin quite so brown), I might think he has some hobbit blood in him. "No, not all; he's much improved though not back to full strength and is still spending most of his time in bed. I don't suppose there would be any of the medicines already made up .... though I could wait for Kharam to return." After all, I did not want to leave without at least getting the medicines if I couldn't get more information by talking with Kharam.

"Come with me. I will make up the medicines for you. My esteemed master has left instructions."

I followed Belen as he led me through the hall and into the large room at the back of the house. I was glad that Belen had his back to me because I think my eyes bugged out a little bit at that news. "Was he expecting me?"

Belen held the door open for me, and I entered the treasure cave (I have to confess that's how I've been thinking of it, there's so many things in there that I would love to get my hands on, for investigational purposes of course).

"No, Mr. Baggins," Belen said as he stooped and set Momo gently on an oddly shaped low stool. I don't believe I've seen such a thing before. It has a wooden frame in a sort of X-shape but is topped with a leather cushion that looks quite like a saddle! I wonder if it is a favorite perch of Momo's for he chattered a bit and then curled up and went to sleep. Apparently I'm old news to him for after a quick sniff of me when I came in the front door, he paid no particular attention to me.

Belen straightened up from settling Momo and continued his explanation. "My learned master records all of his preparations in a book." He smiled and his eyes shone. "I am allowed now to make the simpler ones myself without his being here. I believe that is the case with what Captain Faramir has been taking."

"Oh, good! Excellent!"

"Please make yourself at home while I work." Belen sketched a bow with his hand similar to the way Kharam does it ... though when Kharam does it, I don't have to stifle a laugh.

I confess that I was interested in seeing how the medicines were made, so instead of wandering about, I asked, "May I watch?"

Belen grinned. "Yes, of course. I would be honored."

I followed Belen to the end of the large room where the medicinal materials were kept. It was really very interesting, Sam! The closer I came to this section of the room, the stronger a sort of herbal scent grew. I cannot put my finger on what it smelled like, I suspect a general amalgamation of many things that altogether were quite pungent though not unpleasant. There were bundles of dried flowers and leaves hanging from wooden rafters ... oh, so high up that there is a ladder for their retrieval.

Extending the entire width of the room and abutting directly against the wall was a tall work bench. Well, it looked tall to me! There were several stools pushed beneath it, and Belen helped me up onto one so that I could watch him at his work.

The first thing he did was take a large leather bound book from a shelf that ran across the entire width of the work table and was attached to the wall approximately two feet above the table. The volume he took was one of several on the shelf.

Belen opened the book and thumbed through it until he found what he was seeking. "My respected master is careful to record all the illnesses and medicinal preparations for his patients. This book is for the Bs."

"Bs?"

"Oh, yes, for the Baggins household."

Belen flipped through several pages of densely-written entries until he came to the last one, evidently the one for Faramir. He nodded as he ran his fingers down the list of ingredients. "Yes, I believe we have everything here."

I watched him for a minute as he began to gather the necessary supplies. Sam, the ladder has little wheels on it, and he slid it along the floor, pulling down bundles here and there. As he started to strip leaves and flowers from the bundles to put together the various packets, I thought I would see how close he was with information.

"So, Belen ... how long have you been with Kharam?"

He looked over at me and smiled; there were laugh lines around his eyes though he is still so young. "For two years now. My illustrious master has been very good to me."

"How did you come to be his apprentice?"

He looked back to the herbs and vials of tinctures and continued working at a steady pace. "My father was a healer; they knew each other in that way. I would have naturally been apprenticed to my father, but he was commanded away to the north." He looked at me quickly, his eyes blinking rapidly as though for honesty's sake he wanted to meet my eyes yet could not completely. "He did not come back though I never heard how he died ... whether he died. Yes, he must have died not to have sent word to me." He stopped speaking while he scooped the mixture of herbs into a little muslin bag. There was no sound except for the rustling the herbs made. "He treated the poor of the City mostly so there was not much left and the landlord eventually turned me out." He smiled with one corner of his mouth turned up in a tight bitter curve. "He kept all the furniture and what little belongings we had accumulated over the years."

"Your mother?"

"She died when I was born. No brothers or sisters."

"I am sorry." I did not know what to say. When he said that his father had gone north but not come back, there was only one place that could have been. "And Kharam?"

"He took me in, and I have been with him ever since," Belen said, tying a bit of twine around the bag. "This is to brew in water. Do you remember?"

"Yes," I said, "I remember."

We were quiet while he started to work on a second mixture. I truly did not know what to say. Have you ever had the experience of suddenly drawing closer to someone because of a revelation they have given you of their own generosity? That is what I felt happened there, and it made me shy so all I could think of to say was, "I think Kharam has received as much as he has given." I'm afraid all my prying questions about Kharam's past rather flew out the window for the moment.

Belen flushed at that. He is modest, and I think I embarrassed him. From what he said next, I think I embarrassed him enough that he wanted me out of his sight for a little while! "Have you seen my master's tower?"

Well, that was certainly unexpected, and not just because it seemed to come out of the blue. I had not noticed any tower when I arrived today or when I had come several days ago on my first visit. "No, indeed!"

"It has a very fine view of the harbor and the countryside. My master likes to look at the stars at night." He nodded toward a door to the back garden. "I'll call you when I'm done ... this one will take me about an hour."


	7. Chapter 7

It made me terribly dizzy at first. It's not that it is a very high tower (tall cypress trees screen it from certain approaches to the house, hence my not noticing it before), but there was something about it just standing there by itself. It stands a few hundred yards from the house and is built of the same ochre-painted stone though it did not look as though it had been painted for quite some time. Once I climbed to the little open-aired room at the top, I felt quite disconnected, as though it would be the easiest thing in the world to trip and tumble through one of the round arches that ring the tower's summit.

Ridiculous, isn't it? After all, I live on the side of a cliff now! Even in Hobbiton, I lived at the top of a hill. But Sea Dream and Bag End aren't stuck out all on their own with nothing but air surrounding them.

Did you go to the top of Amon Hen? I can't remember whether you did or not; perhaps you did but never told me. There's a seat on top of it, a great stone seat and I sat on it and there was just this sense of being exposed to everything. Oh, Sam, I got a little of that feeling and I hate it. I hate it. I can't tell you how much I hate it, but I know you'll understand. Can't tell Faramir; he'd worry too much.

The room was almost bare; there was a chair, a little round table, and a large spyglass mounted on a stand that can be swiveled. I suppose this is what Kharam uses to watch the stars at night.

I used it myself after a few minutes, once I got my bearings and decided that I wasn't in danger of tumbling off the parapet unless I made a great effort to do so. Needless to say, I wasn't planning on any such thing! And just as the tower's positioning gave me a different experience of height, it also gave a different view of the sea that has grown so familiar to me.

There is little sight of the city proper (I looked for Sea Dream but could not see any of it), no sight of the many quays that ring the harbor. All I saw was the sea, sparkling in the sunlight, and a few ships bobbing on the water like toys in a bathtub as they came and went. At home, I can hear the rush of the waves against the shore at night when I sit out on our terrace, but it is too far to reach the tower.

It was quite strange. Everything looked bigger and smaller at the same time. I'm not sure I can explain it so I don't think I'll try right now other than to say that I don't think I'd ever get tired of looking at the sea from this aspect even though it had made me uncomfortable at first. It was so clear and bright, without a sound other than the occasional rustle of the breeze through the cypress trees.

"It calls you to it."

I hadn't heard Kharam climbing the stairs. I suppose I was too entranced by looking at the sea. I answered, "Yes, it does," though he had stated it as a fact, not a question.

He joined me then, and I drew my eyes away from the view for a minute to greet him, but I found he was now staring out at the water intently. His face was solemn as it usually is, but the look in his eyes was something new to me. They were so sad. I believe that the expression on his face and in his eyes naturally tends towards a sort of melancholy, but before it has always been covered up by a politeness. Not here. The look in his eyes was naked.

"It draws you too," I finally said and he looked down at me with a faint smile that made the sadness in his eyes even more pronounced.

"Yes, I believe that is how I recognized it in you. Most who climb my tower are charmed by the view, but I believe there is something more in the way you looked at it. As though ..."

"... I could look at it forever," I murmured. "Have you ever sailed on it?"

He looked away from me, out again at the waves so far below, and then he looked further, toward the calmer waters where the Bay reaches the open sea. "Yes, a long time ago. In my younger days, and then later when I arrived here from Harad. I must confess that I like to look for ships from my old home. Old habits die hard."

"Are there many?"

Kharam shook his head. "A few. They are easy to tell from the others for they have black hulls with grey sails that shine in the sun like mother of pearl."

Oh, Sam! Now I know where my ship comes from! For a minute, I kept quiet as a mouse for I did not want to do anything that might stop the flow of information. When he did not say anything further, instead sighing deeply as though caught by an old memory, I decided to prod him, but gently and not too directly.

I asked, "Will there be more ships coming now ... now that lands are freer to trade?"

"Oh, yes, though I do not think there will necessarily be many more ships from Harad. The overland route is more likely ... though that is like a sea in itself."

"What do you mean? I thought it was all empty land ... desert."

"Have you ever beheld a desert with your own waking eyes, Frodo?"

"Just ..." I shivered though the day was warm. I could almost feel the cold biting wind from the slag heaps between the Dead Marshes and the Black Gate. "Just what I saw in the miles before Mordor."

"Ah!" He looked down at me, his brow knotted with concern. "Forgive me, my friend. I did not mean to cause you distress."

"You aren't ... I do want to hear. Tell me."

He sketched a bow with his hand and smiled warmly. "The sands of Harad are not empty slag heaps; they are not dead; they brim over with life."

"Is there water, then? I thought deserts were dead places with no trees or water or ... I don't understand."

"There is water enough for those who can find it, and even the occasional oasis with sheltering trees. For the most part, the desert of Harad is like an ocean of shifting gold. The sand is tawny and fine, and the winds shape it into high swells and waves just as it does the sea we are looking at."

I thought I'd dare something a little more personal. "Do you think you might go back ... now that things have changed?"

Too quick! I'd made my move too quickly, Sam. His face closed up tight; the smile faded and the sadness in his eyes was covered and replaced by the more familiar solemn expression. His professional healer look as I've thought of it since I've mostly seen it when he's come to my bedside.

But he did answer me. No matter what he has done in his life, he has an air of dignity and politeness, so he answered me courteously. "I do not think so, my friend. It is unlikely I would be welcome in my old home ... and sometimes it is best not to try to return to a home that you might not recognize ... and that might not recognize you for what you are and what you have done, or not done."

With that, he was silent, looking out to the sea again. I wanted to say something to him. In truth, I wanted to apologize, but something held me back from doing that. I do not think he would have appreciated that; in fact, I think it would have made things more uncomfortable for him. As I still have hopes of discovering a few things—doing a little more tapping on the walls, you might say—I decided to say no more.

But I thought it best not to completely abandon the topic right away. "I am glad to hear what the ships of Harad look like. It turns out that I have seen some, and I wondered where they came from. Or perhaps it has been the same one, coming and going regularly."

He turned to me. I did tell you that Kharam has the darkest, most unfathomable eyes, didn't I? I could not begin to read what was in them. He said, his voice deep and low, "When was that? Recently?"

"Several times, but I'm thinking now of the day Faramir grew ill and I came to get you."

His expression was calm, and the clothes Kharam wears are loose and voluminous, but oh, I could tell he'd gone terribly tense. A quick look at the stone balustrade told me he was gripping it hard with both hands, his knuckles white with the strain. "Is it still there?"

I shook my head. "No. It is gone again." I laughed a little. "I think it knows I'm painting it and leaves to vex me." I don't know what made me say that. I suppose I was rather desperate for at least a little joke by that point. It's true that I went to Kharam's today to see what I could find out (or begin to find out) about his past. It's probably truer to say that I want to disprove what I heard from Faramir, for my heart still tells me that Kharam is not evil or at least not wholly so. But when I stood there with him in his lonely tower and felt I was beginning to glimpse, if not the truth of his past, then at least the path toward it ... Do you remember how Gandalf advised us how to leave the Shire, that we should head towards the danger but not straight to it? That's how I felt I should proceed. It wasn't fear exactly that guided me though perhaps it should be, given what Faramir told me.

Anyway, my little jest seemed to have a positive effect. The smile returned though not so broad, not so warm. It was the polite smile that I've seen several times now. It is not insincere; don't think that, Sam. It is merely that Kharam carefully schools himself in his conduct. He said, "We must inform the master of the harbor to detain the ship the next time it arrives until you have no more need of it."

I think we were both relieved to share a little laughter. "What a good idea!" I finally said, a broad grin plastered on my face. "I shall ask Faramir to do the honors."

Kharam inclined his head toward me. "And how is Captain Faramir today? I see that you have put Belen to work though he says the captain is much improved."

"Oh, yes." We started down the stairs, chatting as we went. "He's much better but I'd run out of most of the medicines you gave us, so I thought it better to have more on hand."

"Ah, yes. You are very practical, my friend. May I ask if that is a quality shared by most of your people?"

"Oh, yes, it is. We hobbits like things laid out fair and square for the most part." I felt a flush creeping up my throat. I'm afraid I haven't been following my own words, at least with respect to Kharam and what I want to know about him. We fell silent as we walked across the lawn, and I felt his eyes on me, searching I think for something. I have to tell you that I was very relieved when we reached the house and went inside. Belen held a little bundle out to me, but before I could take it, Momo raced by and grabbed it, then leaped about until he stood high above us on one of the ceiling rafters. He chattered away and waved the package about, dangling it by the string that held it together.

"And what would one of your practical folk do about a naughty monkey?" Kharam asked.

I don't quite remember what I said, but eventually the monkey and the bundle were retrieved safely. I made my thanks and farewells, then set out for home. As I walked down the path, Kharam called after me. "Bring your paints next time. Perhaps you might like to paint the view from my tower."

I rather think I might. But that will be for another day ... and another letter, my friend. When I arrived back home, Faramir was up and in our study, working on his report to Aragorn. He eyed me and my little package with a raised eyebrow but did not question me closely.

And now here I sit finishing this letter. For I am going to bring this one to a close, dearest of friends. It turns out that the messenger to the King will leave for Gondor in the morning, and I am determined that this letter will go with him. I know that's terribly unfair, to leave you hanging so to speak just as things are warming up, but there it is. If I put off sending you this much, then by the time I do bring the tale to a close I expect your first child will not only be born but grown and married!

Wish me luck in my investigation! And let me know how you like the dried mushrooms. I think this batch is even better than what I sent you before.

Fare well for now, my dearest Sam.

Frodo

P.S. Faramir sends his greeting and wants to know if I've always been as nosy as I appear to be to him. Don't know where he got such a notion. Hmph!

* * *

~ From Kharam's Private Journal (translated from the language of the Haradrim) ~

 

The halfling came again today. He claimed that he needed more medicine for his lover. We stood together in my tower and looked out at the sea. He longs for it, I could see that. He longs to pass over it just as I do, though perhaps a different sea. Perhaps the same.

I believe he could draw close, maybe too close. This disturbs me, though the sensation is complex and contains much that is old and grown unfamiliar to me after long years of silence.

I do not know.


	8. Chapter 8

~ Excerpt from a letter from Faramir to Aragorn ~

... but enough about the trade negotiations.

I do not know whether I have mentioned the physician who attends Frodo when needed (and me as well though only once, I'm just recovering from a slight cold, more a nuisance than anything else). His name is Kharam, and he is quite unusual in that he comes from Harad. He was highly recommended by Hallas and I must say that he is as fine a healer as I've run across (not including my liege lord, of course). This is probably nothing and I do not want to alarm you, but there are some rather unsavory tales about this man's past. There are certain things he is supposed to have done, certain alliances he is said to have supported and nurtured before he fled to Umbar many years ago. To be blunt, it is said that he was willingly under the command of Barad-dûr, even to the extent of slaying his own wife and child. At first I wondered how such a man could be tolerated in Umbar though I realize that was my own foolishness, given the history of the south and its relation to Gondor. Even today, when peace has come, not all here wish that to be so.

Frodo has become fascinated by this man, and it makes me uncomfortable, to say the least. He is also rather willful and has had plenty of time to do his own investigations while I have been laid up with this cold. I do not think he has learned much though he has been rather close about it. He is aware of the accusations against Kharam; in fact, we argued about the matter and I'm afraid that's done nothing but increase his fascination, not to mention a determination to get to the bottom of what he clearly perceives to be a mystery that needs solving. And that is what worries me. Sometimes it does not do to stir things up that are best left untouched, especially in these days when old wounds between peoples have more than mere hope of being healed.

Tell me, Aragorn. Have you any knowledge of this man?

* * *

Dear Sam,

I'm afraid this is just a short note. I'd said in my previous letter that I was going to send you some orange tree saplings and now it looks like the opportunity has come up sooner than I thought it would. It turns out that there is an Umbar merchant who longs to visit the Shire (by longing, I really mean he sees a profit to be made in the pipeweed trade). He has offered to take some saplings with him and in fact will be leaving early in the morning as there is a group of traders heading north. I believe their destination is actually the Bree-land, but that means his path and theirs will jog along together for many miles. So I shall take advantage of his kind offer and send you my greetings and a little bit of news along with the saplings.

Aragorn is coming to visit! As a matter of fact, he should be on his way already and with us very soon. His letter informing us of this visit arrived yesterday, with the news that he would plan to set out by ship within a day or two.

The strange thing about it is that this is not the state visit that has been discussed and is indeed in the early stages of planning. There was some blather in his letter about wanting to arrive as a private citizen. Something about wanting to visit dear friends. Sheer nonsense. He's up to something.

And Faramir was quite evasive. At least he had the decency to blush when he said it seemed perfectly natural to him that Aragorn would want to do such a thing. He's a terrible liar, almost as bad as you are. I've no doubt that this is the way Aragorn would prefer to visit us; his increased responsibilities and fame have in no way changed his modest nature and I doubt they ever will.

Sometimes I think no one tells me anything. I wonder if the trade negotiations between Gondor and Umbar have become delicate enough to warrant a secret trip by the King.

If you were here, I would bet you a barrel of the Green Dragon's best brew that he shows up in his old ranger clothes (if the Lady Arwen hasn't had them all burned or sent to the archivists to be preserved for their historical interest) and tries to slink about in dark corners looking mysterious.

I hope the saplings survive the journey!

Frodo

P.S. I hope you've gotten my earlier letter, that dreadfully long one. No news about the other thing I wrote you about in it. At least nothing startling, just more of the same twists and turns that aren't leading me any closer, I'll warrant. I'll write more fully once Aragorn arrives. Actually, I think I shall make him my messenger.

* * *

~ From Kharam's private journal ~

I am to dine at Captain Faramir and Frodo's home tonight. The note from Frodo said something about their wanting to repay my recent kindnesses to them.

Of course I shall go, and of course I shall remain on my guard. Though I sense but friendship and curiosity from the hobbit, the man ... it is clear that he has heard certain things about me that I would rather he had not, though he does not know all. But then, no one knows all, not even those who think they do. It is my intention to keep it that way unless a day should come when I can, if not disprove what has been said of me, at least provide more ... meaning.

I cannot deny that my own curiosity has been aroused. On the one hand, it is a modest surprise to me that Captain Faramir will allow me back into his home, considering his appalled outburst when he was ill. Then again, he is an intelligent and resourceful man who is quite capable of drawing a supposed enemy closer to learn more ... the better to disarm me, perhaps. No doubt, he is a fierce adversary; the gentleness in his face does not mean there is no iron beneath the skin.

However, it is likely that I should be even more on guard with the hobbit, Frodo, than with Captain Faramir. I do not think that Frodo's friendly curiosity is more than that, but that could make him all the more dangerous for I can admit – in these pages only – that I do long to make a true friend of him. There is a certain sympathy. In a sense, we are both exiles from our homes ... I had had some similar thoughts toward Captain Faramir when I first met him, though it is clear to me now that that will come to nothing.

I am tired this evening, and not just with the satisfying fatigue that comes from a full day. The news Frodo had of the Harad ship shocked me, shocked me more than I thought possible after all these long years, and it has been weighing on me ever since he and I spoke in the tower. It is not as though it is the first one to arrive in these waters for trade, though I do believe there will be more—more ships arriving here with increasing frequency. That is what alarms me, that there will be many more, not just the stray one slipping into the harbor for a day or a night and then leaving without fanfare. I would be lying to myself if I were to think that there will be no knowledge of me coming from these ships, if not in the next one, then in the one after that. Or after that. Not all who knew me in the dark years have perished. That much I know.

I have grown too comfortable here, almost as though I believed I had banished my past as surely as the blowing sands of the desert cover the tracks of a dromedary caravan. But what can be covered by the dunes during an hour's storm can just as easily be revealed again when the winds shift.

Something is shifting now.


	9. Chapter 9

Dear Sam,

I was wrong. Aragorn did not arrive wearing his old ranger clothes.

He has had a new set made.

I could not resist chaffing him about it a bit after Faramir and I settled him into our best (not to mention only) guest bedroom and then led him out to the balcony for a little refreshment. "Your clothes look quite familiar," I said to him as I passed him a glass of freshly-made lemonade.

He grinned at me though I believe I also saw a bit of a flush creep up his throat. "Frodo, you wound me. Do you know how infrequently I get the chance to get out of those blasted formal robes and into something comfortable?"

"Then put your feet up by all means. This house may not be in the Shire, but it is still arranged for comfort!"

And he did. Oh, Sam, for a little while it seemed that our Strider had returned for he stretched out those long legs of his, rested his feet on the balustrade, and proceeded to fill and light his pipe as he looked about him.

He looked so young as he sat there in the sunlight and talked with us about the doings in his kingdom (I still have to pinch myself every time I think or say or write "his kingdom" to make sure I'm not dreaming). In truth, the lines on his face have not faded; if anything, they are deeper than ever and honorably won. And his hair is as shaggy as ever though the silver is more plentiful and shines bright. But somehow he looked younger to me than he ever has. His kingship sits well on him.

But I'm not writing to tell you about Aragorn's new clothes though I expect you'll be interested in that as much as anything else. The thing is, two days after he arrived, we had Kharam to dinner on Faramir's suggestion.

They know each other; that is, Aragorn and Kharam know each other. Oh, they didn't say or do anything openly. Indeed, they both seemed particularly cautious, but I try to be careful and notice things about me and I saw there was something there.

And I see I'm explaining things badly and in such a muddled way, so let me try to untangle ...

* * *

~ From Kharam's private journal ~

I was right about Faramir's alarm concerning my unsavory past though I did not think he would go so far as to call in the King of Gondor ... and in disguise at that!

He remembers me; I could see it in his eyes. He is practiced at not showing what he is thinking or feeling, and I am certain that he learned this skill many years ago and at great need. However, I am also skilled at this and for the same reason—great need.

I do not think Faramir or Frodo noticed, though it seems unlikely that Aragorn left them in the dark very long after I left their house. Not that I knew him as Aragorn when he came to Harad so many long years ago.

One thing has not changed. This man is still a hunter.

* * *

~ From Frodo's private journal, written the same night as the dinner with Kharam ~

I do not think I should continue writing to Sam about Kharam's unsolved story until I have learned its end and what repercussions its unraveling might have, but I also do not want to lose track of things so I shall continue here. I shall write things up more neatly to Sam later.

It might not be quite the right thing to do—that is, to continue writing about unsavory doings in the past which might have some connection to the current King of Gondor and Arnor! Letters might still go astray and I do not want to be the cause of any discomfort or unpleasantness to Aragorn.

Tonight, as Faramir was showing Kharam to the door, I turned to Aragorn and said right out, not beating around the bush, "You know him, don't you?

Aragorn raised his eyebrows at me but did not answer right away, instead turning and looking out to Sea. Knowing him as I do—he is never garrulous and one does well to give him his own time to speak—I leaned back in my own chair and sipped at my wine, waiting.

As it turned out, Faramir returned before Aragorn decided to speak.

"Shall you answer now, Aragorn?" I said, smiling at Faramir as he poured us all some more wine and then seated himself at the table. He has regained his health, and I am glad. Though it was only a cold, I cannot deny that it was very frightening to me when he grew so ill.

"And what question has Frodo posed you, my liege?" Faramir spoke to Aragorn but he kept his eyes on me. The look of mischief in his eyes faded when Aragorn explained.

He said, "Frodo thinks that Kharam and I have met before."

I thought I would see surprise on Faramir's face, but instead he got that sly look he gets when he thinks he's been the only one to notice something and is about to confide some secret to me. To be honest, I enjoy these occasions because they always make us both especially randy. Why, just the other night ...

I see I shall have to be very careful of what I write here. If I do not keep alert, I'll be digressing into all sorts of alleyways that I don't intend to walk down!

"And you still have not answered my question, Aragorn," I said when Aragorn still showed no signs of answering.

He laughed then and sat forward, leaning his elbows on the table. "Your pardon, Frodo," he said and then grew solemn. "I see I must take more care of my expression if I need to fool you or Faramir. Yes, it is true that I have known Kharam before."

And then the blasted man shut up tight like a clam. It was most infuriating but the only additional piece of information I could get out of him for the rest of the evening was that many years ago Aragorn had been hunting for something in Harad, something related to the Enemy he said with a grim slant to his mouth.

"The Enemy is destroyed," I said when Aragorn stood up to go to bed without telling us anything more. "Can you not speak openly of this?"

He stood in the doorway a while longer. Finally he said, "I must think on this for some time, Frodo. The Enemy is gone but many of his old allies and servants still live, especially in the South and the East."

I wheedled at him some more, but all he would say was that he needed to think about the situation some more and perhaps do some investigating. Very stubborn man.

Was Aragorn hunting Kharam so many years ago? And where exactly? I'm sure I can determine at least some of that without trying my luck with Aragorn himself, so I think it best if I lie a bit fallow for the next few days as regards any concerted questioning. But I shall keep my wits about me. Yes, that's it. If I try to get the information out of him too soon, he will shut up even more sharply.

I think it's time that I took Kharam up on his invitation to do some painting at his home. Tomorrow, in fact, will probably be a fine day for it.

Who was Aragorn hunting? Where and when did their paths intersect?


	10. Chapter 10

~ From Frodo's private journal the next day ~

 

We rose rather late the next morning, all three of us. I suspect the several bottles of wine we managed to put away last night might have had something to do with that. After a leisurely breakfast (which should have been called luncheon for it was nearly noon by the time we sat down at the table to eat), Faramir took Aragorn to see Hallas. We have all agreed that it will be more useful than not to include Hallas in our little conspiracy around Aragorn's identity. Plus of course there is the matter of Hallas having actually seen Aragorn in the flesh in Minas Tirith.

Soon after they left, I found myself shutting the front door and then setting off for Kharam's, a couple of sharpened pencils sticking out of my pocket and a large sketch pad tucked beneath one arm.

Once there, Belen let me in and then sent me right out again, to the tower. "My master is up there."

"Shall I be interrupting him?"

"Oh, I don't think so. Anyway, he has been very quiet today, and a little sad. I'm sure you'll cheer him up."

I was not quite so certain of my having that effect; nevertheless, I did not let the thought of an unhappy (and possibly uncommunicative) Kharam stop me from immediately bidding Belen farewell and making my way to the tower. I trotted up the stairs and was pleased to realize I was not even the slightest bit out of breath once I'd reached the top stair. Though I have my difficult spells, most of my days are spent in good health.

There was a doorway into the tower room; the door itself was open and looked like it had last been shut many years before. I knocked (and disturbed a peaceful spider in her small web) to alert Kharam of my presence.

He was standing at the window, stooped over a bit as he looked through his spyglass at the bay. Hearing my knock, he straightened and turned round. The dark circles beneath his eyes told me that he had slept very poorly, but he smiled when he saw the intruder was me.

"Come in, my friend!" he said and pulled a small stool away from the wall for me to sit on.

I set my sketch pad against the wall and sat down. Only once I was firmly established did I speak. "If I'm disturbing you at all, just say the word and I'll leave you in peace."

"Not at all. I would welcome your company. And I see you have brought something to draw on. I am pleased that you have."

From where I sat on my low stool, I looked about me. It did not take me long to realize that from my current vantage point, I could not draw anything but the room and the pieces of sky I could see through the arched windows. Kharam caught on a second after I did.

"Perhaps that stool is not the best place for your sketching," Kharam said.

"No, I'm afraid not," I answered.

"The problem is easily solved then." Kharam rose and I followed his lead. He moved the stool across the room so that it stood just beneath one of the windows. Holding his hand out to me, he said, "Come, I shall help you up."

I'm sure Kharam both saw and heard the enormous gulp I took though he was thoughtful enough to ignore it. While it is true that I live on the side of a cliff and quite regularly perch on our balcony's wide balustrade without any ill effects, Kharam's tower is quite a different matter! There it is, stuck in the middle of the back garden, with no protective cliff for the building to lean against.

However, I did not particularly want to advertise my desire to stay as far away as possible from that gaping window, so there was nothing for it but to take Kharam's proffered hand. After a quick hoist, I found myself sitting on the window's sill, my legs spread wide and straddling it (holding it with a death grip would be more truthful). It was not nearly as wide as the one on my balcony!

Nevertheless, I did not immediately tumble out into open space. After a few minutes I even adjusted enough to my new chair that I was able to lean against the solid stone window frame. Kharam handed me my sketch pad and I pulled out my pencils. I think I shall have to go back soon, but this time with a canvas and my paints, and not just so that I can gather information. The view was that interesting to my eye.

Being higher up as well as inland a bit more than at Sea Dream, it was very different. I'm not sure I can completely describe it, but the view was smaller and larger at the same time. I could see more, but each individual thing—tree, tiled rooftop, patch of bare rock—looked smaller since I was farther away. It was a little strange, and I enjoyed it.

As I started sketching the bay and the steep sides surrounding it, we both fell silent and I grew absorbed in my work. Once I settled into a rhythm, I began turning over in my mind certain questions I wanted to ask Kharam as well as the best way to ask them. But it turned out that I didn't have to ask a leading question or even say a word at all. Instead, Kharam started telling me of his old home by his own choice, though he was careful to keep out all mention of any information that could lead me to additional findings.

"Do you like to hear once upon a time stories, Frodo?" he asked.

I started a bit for it had been so quiet before that the only sounds had been that of my pencil scratching on the paper and a bird singing somewhere in the garden. The tower is too far from the sea to hear any rumor of it. The day was bright, perfect for drawing sharp, straight lines. It had rained in the night, but now all was washed clean. I suppose the bird was adding her praise of the view.

Though I wanted to say, "Does it have a happy ending?" I did not. After all, I already knew that there were dark and painful things in Kharam's life. If I had any hope of learning more, asking him such a thing outright would make sure I never did. So, instead, I answered with a simple "yes" and then fell silent again.

Kharam stood before his spyglass, one hand curved loosely around its barrel and stared out to sea while he spoke. Any concern I'd had about being able to concentrate on my drawing and what he was saying melted right away with his first words. If anything, listening to him while I worked made my hand more sure.

"Once upon a time, my worthy friend, I had a view very similar to this though my ocean was made of sand, not water. I lived in a house that belonged to my family for a very long time. It was in the middle of my City, and this house was built in two stories for the most part. But in one corner of the house, it was built to four stories, and the square room on the fourth floor was mine for many years." Kharam stopped for a moment, stroking the curve of the spyglass. His hands seemed very gentle to me.

I wanted him to continue, so I asked a question to prod him along. "Did your windows have curved tops, like here?"

"No they were square. And the walls of my old house were not painted ochre, they were made of a golden-hued stone. All the walls of my City were hewn of that stone, and the sands to the north of the City were the same, except the houses stayed still and the sand shifted and moved."

"What lay to the south?"

Kharam turned to me and smiled. There was something in his eyes. No, it was not something; there was a very specific longing in them. I have seen it in others' eyes and I know it must live in mine—the longing for one's first home. I do not suppose it ever completely fades; perhaps it grows stronger as the years pass. I do not know yet.

"To the south? There are more dunes for many long leagues until you reach the Southern Sea."

Drat my curious tongue for leading me astray (though I do not think it really did even if it did make the path of our conversation meander somewhat, which now puts me in mind of how we missed The Golden Perch in my attempt at a shortcut). So, instead of asking more about his home—his family, his work—I asked, "Tell me more of the Southern Sea's shores. Are they sharp and steep like in Umbar?"

"No," Kharam said softly. "There are wide beaches of fine yellow sand that run down to meet the water."

He continued to tell me of these beaches and the crescent cove from which the ships of Harad put out to sea until I felt I could see them with my own eyes. I stared out at my patch of blue ocean, dreaming of smooth shores and golden sand, until I realized what I was seeing with my waking eyes.

"Look!" I said. There was a ship approaching from the Sea, a real one, its black hull gleaming every now and then in the sunlight.

"Yes, it returns yet again. Have you ever seen who it carries?"

"No, never. I don't think it's crossed my mind much before. But perhaps I shall." A sudden desire sprang up in me to run right down to the wharves and see what I could learn. "Would you like me to? I could carry a message."

"No! Do not go there, Frodo." But it was Aragorn who spoke. I'd been so caught up in what Kharam was revealing (little though it was, I now realize) that I hadn't heard Aragorn's footsteps on the stairway. No doubt his many years of experience also had a little to do with his ability to be so stealthy around me.

Kharam stood up as Aragorn entered the room. I watched them from my perch on the window sill. They stood still and looked each other in the eye, their faces impassive. It was Kharam who broke the silence by stepping forward and clasping Aragorn's shoulder.

"Welcome, my old friend."

Aragorn returned the clasp and they stood grinning at each other, clearly oblivious to my polite cough.

Aragorn said, "Thank you. I thought perhaps I should wait for cover of night, but then I remembered ..."

Kharam threw his head back and laughed. Aragorn joined him.

Kharam said, "We are not in such dangerous places any longer? No, I do not think you need cover of darkness any longer. Even though you have come under ... what name is it you are traveling under?"

I piped in with, "Strider?"

Aragorn laughed. "No, that is too well known these days. To be honest, I have not given it much thought."

"Perhaps Thorongil will still do," Kharam said.

"Yes, it will if the need arises."

Aragorn turned to me and held out his hands, palms up. "I'm sorry, Frodo, for being so secretive last night."

Well, this seemed ridiculous. "And what on earth could you have learned since last night to allay your ... worries."

"Nothing. I just managed to remember that, though there are still dangers about, the times have indeed changed."

"You know perfectly well Faramir and I would have figured things out rather quickly, don't you?" I was more than a little indignant.

Aragorn smiled and shook his head. "No hope in even trying to elude you a little bit, is there? As it was impossible to throw Faramir off the track earlier today."

"Oh, yes? What happened?"

"Faramir thought that perhaps I might prefer to open my mind to him alone ... temporarily, of course."

I do believe there might have been steam coming out of my ears by that point. Only the sight of Kharam's smirk made me take hold of myself and remember what I was about. There will be plenty of time to deal with Faramir and his blasted over-protectiveness later.

It was on the tip of my tongue to continue needling Aragorn, but I managed to swallow the impulse and say instead, "Before you arrived, Kharam began telling me of his home. I should like him to continue though I suppose you already know all?"

Aragorn laughed and, pulling the stool into the middle of the room, sat down and answered me. "No, indeed, Frodo. I have never been to Kharam's home. We met elsewhere."

"But it was in Harad?"

"Oh, yes. It is because of our meeting in Harad that I have come."

Kharam made his gesture of touching fingers to forehead, and my mouth fell open. "But I thought you had come to ... Faramir told me he wrote you ..."

Aragorn scooted his stool back a bit and then leaned his shoulders against the wall, stretching out his legs before him. "Yes, I know, Frodo. I also know that you and Faramir are equal to solving any mystery or difficulty that might come your way though of course it is my honor to help you in any way I can. But the truth is that I came for another reason."

I looked between the two of them. Kharam had settled in his chair and was staring at his hands.

Aragorn continued. "You see, Frodo, I was concerned, so very concerned at what Faramir wrote to me about Kharam."

Kharam stirred though he kept his eyes downcast. When he spoke, his voice was low; both Aragorn and I had to lean forward to hear him. "You are a fine man, Aragorn, and I am grateful to you from the bottom of my unworthy heart for your coming here to me. You should not have. What is coming to me has been fated for many years, and I think it is time for me to submit to it." He stopped a moment and cleared his throat, turning his head and staring out the window with unseeing eyes. "I had thought for some years that I might have escaped judgment but I see it is not to be. Nor should it be."

Aragorn sat forward and leaned his elbows on his thighs, his eyes bright and intense. "I do not know all the facts about what happened in the past, but I do know that I made a vow to you that I would aid you if you needed it. I am here."

I made some small sound, and they both turned to me. I said nothing.

Aragorn said, with a fond shake of his head, "I expect this is making things more confusing for you rather than less, what with talk of vows and whatnot, is it not?" He waited for my nod and smiled. "I am here for a very simple reason, Frodo. Many years ago, Kharam saved my life, at great risk of his own. When we parted, I vowed to repay his generosity and skill in years to come if I could."

Kharam shook his head and started to say something about it not being necessary and for Aragorn and me not to concern ourselves with his troubles for he had earned them.

Aragorn raised his hand. "Kharam, it is too late for that. I am here and I will not leave until I have repaid my debt to you. And believe me, it is a debt of friendship, not duty."

"I have done terrible things ..."

"Who has not? And there is a difference between doing difficult things that live inside your heart and doing evil things. I would wager you have done the first but not the second."

Then Kharam did something that I never thought to see him do. He grew flustered. He threw up his hands and blew out a hard breath. Aragorn stared at him impassively and I kept very quiet and small on my stone seat.

Eventually Kharam started shaking his head and laughing. "It has been so many years since I have had true friends that I am afraid I am ill-equipped to know how to behave."

I had to speak to that. "I think you have more friends than you know. Take Belen ..."

"And Captain Faramir?"

"Faramir is very careful of me, and I love him for it. But you will see what a good friend he can be to you if you will open your heart to us."

"You are very wise; I am honored to call you friend." He raised his chin and looked at Aragorn. "And I am grateful to you, Aragorn. But before I can allow you to assist me ... not that I am convinced that assistance is needed or even possible ... you must hear my story told in full. And at the end, I will release you from your vow, for listening to my grievous story will be repayment several times over."

There was much to and fro-ing between them. They are both very strong-willed and used to being obeyed. In the end, it was decided that we will come back tomorrow evening—myself, Aragorn and Faramir. Then Kharam will tell us his tale, and we will decide what needs to be done.

Before we left the tower that afternoon, we all looked out at the bay and watched the black-hulled ship sail ever closer to the City.

"And no slipping away to the harbor, Frodo," Aragorn said as we clambered down the stairs.

"What happened to your thinking I'm equal to anything?"

"Hmph."


	11. Chapter 11

When we arrived the next evening, Belen met us at the door and took us through to the great room at the back of the house. Kharam was already there, arranging freshly-cut cypress branches in the same plain clay jug that apparently always held such things. Though he heard us enter, he did not stop his careful adjustments to the two branches until they rested in a way satisfactory to him. I remembered the first time I had been in this room and had asked him about the cypress, thinking it was an unusual posy to display indoors.

_"They are for remembrance."_

He turned round and looked at each of us in turn, his expression solemn, but I had no time for being struck by exactly how dark his eyes were as I usually was. For the first time since I had known him, he wore no covering on his head. His hair was dark and curly, cut quite short. You might think that after living such a difficult life, it would be white or at least tinged with silver, but it was not. His hair was jet black, darker than his eyes, his curls smooth and glossy. He looked naked and young to me though he wore his usual long robes.

"Welcome," he said. "Belen, please bring my guests some refreshment."

While we waited for Belen to return, Kharam bid us be seated and we complied. Though the large room was mostly fitted out for study and work, at one end of the room were soft couches and pillows. Once we were all seated and Belen had distributed cups of red wine to quench our thirst, Kharam began. For light, there were only a few candles and they were positioned such that they cast a glow around Kharam's sad face and left all else in shadow. It was appropriate for soon we were all captured by his tale.

* * *

_Kharam's Story_

I believe that to the peoples of the west my homeland is considered to be a cruel and hard land, and that belief is not without foundation. But we were not always an evil people though our lives were never easy or soft.

I have told Frodo somewhat of my city and my house and I have no doubt that he has relayed this information to you, so I will not take up your precious time by repeating these things other than to tell you that, until an evil day, it was my home. My home. I have not known a home since then and I do not expect that I ever will again in this life. I suspect that the loss of and search for one's home is something that you, my friends, can well understand.

My family were merchants, sellers of things needful and sometimes even beautiful—well-crafted furniture that would last generations, carpets to cover rough floors of beaten yellow earth, the occasional frivolous carved trinket to please a child or a young bride. It had been our trade for time past remembering, and our house was an old one, large and filled with many things and even more memories than things. Not only my father and mother and sister and I lived in this house. My father's brother always lived with us though he was often away from the city, being fond of traveling throughout the country, always seeking out more business. Between my father and my uncle, our family business was always lively and sometimes prosperous.

Though it was expected that I should carry on the family trade, it was not meant to be. Once, when I was a child, I grew very ill with a wasting fever and was long under the care of our city's most celebrated healer. During my recovery, I grew profoundly interested in the healing arts; it seemed to me then and still does that to be a healer of men was the greatest occupation a man could have. As my father was a man respectful of such things (and touchingly grateful for my return to robust health), once he grew convinced that I was serious in my desire, he saw to it that I was apprenticed to the very healer who had cured me. For my part, I was filled with enthusiasm for my chosen profession and swept away any pangs of guilt that I should not be the one to carry on the family trade. However, my younger sister married the younger son of another reputable trading family and so our two families were joined together and all was well.

It sounds like a fairy tale, does it not, my early life? And so it was. Not that our life was easy in its everyday actualities, oh no, it was not. There was many a time when an expected caravan of goods was lost and with it our profits for an entire year. But I was rich in the most important things, and my parents always saw to it that my belly was never empty.

In the fullness of time, I grew to manhood. A wife was chosen for me by my parents, as was the custom of Harad. Though I did not choose Mehrunissa for myself, in after years it always seemed that it had been so, for she became as the sun and moon and stars to me. Which was just as well for her name means "the Sun of Women." Mehrunissa blessed me with a son, and we were content.

Yes, we were content, though we never forgot the black land that lay to the west and north of us beyond the Mountains of Shadow. In my childhood and early adulthood, it was spoken of in worried tones by the men at night around hearth fires—what to do about the black land and the evil that lived there and was spreading its wickedness in all directions. But always it seemed to stay far enough away; always it seemed that it would not touch us too closely until we persuaded ourselves that we were enclosed safely in our own land. Surely they would have no undue interest in us. We knew the Dark Lord's plans revolved around Gondor and the lands to the west. He would turn his black gaze only that way. Our city was small and obscure and had always been, unlike the great cities of Harad that lay far to the south near the sea's shore. Even our own lords from the south paid us little attention. With such arguments, we convinced ourselves we were worthy of little notice.

How foolish we were to think we could shut out the wide world forever.

They came without warning with the rising sun. Almost twenty years ago it is now. I was not thirty at the time though a man full grown and responsible for the lives of many. You must think we were an exceptionally foolish people to be so utterly surprised, and perhaps we were. Perhaps you think it completely unlike all you have ever heard of the Haradrim, given our cruel and hard reputation and perhaps you are right in that as well. But our reputation was in part due to the harsh conditions of the land. I do not say this to excuse any of our actions or the customs that to your eyes would be inexplicable and wicked.

The enemy came in force, and they came to stay. They made their way south and east from Mordor, men one and all and I know not from where for I had never heard that there were men in Mordor, only orcs. But these were men, all of them, and they came in strong enough force and moved so ruthlessly that they captured each Harad town or encampment they reached, and not one man or woman escaped to bear the tale south, to give warning. I have heard that in the land of Gondor there are beacons set on top of high mountains and these beacons are lit in times of need to warn others and ask for aid. We have no mountains in Harad, only sand dunes that change with the winds and flat, arid plains.

I saw their approach. It was early morning and I was in my tower room, preparing for the day with a few minutes of quiet reflection. It was my habit to go there at dawn when all was still. I liked to think about the patients I needed to see that day; those few minutes helped me organize my thoughts.

As was my habit, I looked out each of the four windows in my beloved tower and greeted the morning, bowing my head four times—south, east, west and north. The sun was just rising. When I looked north, at first I did not notice anything untoward. There was a haze but that was not unusual at that time of day, and after all, this was for the most part desert land and there are always sandstorms, whether large ones that blot out the sun or little whirlwinds that spin like a child's toy. I'm not even sure why I kept on looking, but I did. Perhaps the sun's glint off polished metal caught my eye. I do not know.

So I kept looking north, and soon I could see that it was not the morning haze or a little whirlwind I was beholding; it was a large company of men on the move.

Too late. We'd done nothing but talk and wonder and we'd left it too late. For of course I knew who was coming. I knew it in an instant. And now it was too late to take my family to safety.

They traveled fast though mostly on foot. By the time the noon hour arrived, they were at the gates and our people had prepared as best we could. An hour later, those gates were blasted apart. By sunset, the streets ran with blood, and the wounded and the dying were numbered in every family of the city.

I do not need to tell you I was overwhelmed by the suffering. If I'd had twenty extra pairs of hands, it would not have been enough.

As I said, they came to stay. Not many of them stayed for most continued on with their conquest, but it was enough to subdue our small city. They came to levy tribute for the Lord Sauron, greatest of all rulers in Middle-earth. We were fortunate, they said, and they smiled when they said it, these evil men with their long cruel faces and cold eyes. Yes, we were fortunate that they had come to give us the benefit of their presence and guidance. Too long they had stayed away from us, but they would not abandon us now, or so they promised.

Myself, in the first days of their occupation, I did not have time to ponder why they had come and what they would do, what it would mean to our lives, whether we would even keep our lives, and what the shape of our days would take. I knew only two things: that my wife and son were alive and uninjured and that my work as a healer was needed more than ever.

After they had been there a few days and the dead had been burned, including my own father and mother though I did not spare them more than a moment's anguish and that was a moment too long considering the danger and the work to be done … ah, I wander, do I not, my friends? Please forgive me. It has been many years since I have allowed myself to remember such things out loud.

After they had been there a few days, a notice was posted at the city square and on the city walls at regular intervals:

_People of Harad, present yourselves at the city square at dawn tomorrow. You will be registered and the representatives of Sauron the Great will determine your future. If you do not appear, it will go ill with you and all your kin._

To this day, I do not know why this was done. They did not need us to do any particular deed or to make things for them, nothing of this sort. The only thing they could want would be able-bodied men to fight in the western wars as had occurred in years past. We had never allied with the west in the past; you were utterly alien to us and all our tales spoke in a hush of Numenor's cruelty.

No, it is not true. I do know why this was done. Because they could, because it was necessary to them to take all lands in Middle-earth and cover it in sadness and horror. This they did.

They wrote down our names and our addresses, who our families were, how many lived in each house, what our occupations were, how old we were, our general state of health. At first I told my wife I would not go to the square. I was still a fairly young man and filled with a nervous bravado.

"And would you see us all killed and burned with your parents, my husband, to save your pride?" Mehrunissa asked me, her eyes dark and glowing almost with madness, a madness to live, to survive even if only for one more day

So of course I went. We all did. What else could we have done? So many had been killed already, many strong men, their few weapons taken from them by the invaders.

It stung my heart when Mehrunissa accused me of esteeming my pride over my childrens' lives, but she knew me well. We were well matched in all ways. And in part it was my pride that was my downfall.

A week after they occupied the city, another announcement was posted in the square:

_People of Harad. Let all men over 20 years of age present themselves at the square at dawn tomorrow. A great honor awaits you._

Needless to say, we did not consider anything these men could contrive or say as an honor. And I am sure I do not need to say that most of us complied. Those who did not were hunted in the following days and tortured before being hung in the square. The line of gibbets at the square's center became an all too familiar sight to us. I will not speak to you of the smell of the corpses that were left hanging as an example to the living.

My brother-in-law and I were both of an age to comply with the command, and we presented ourselves at dawn, along with several dozen others. Though my city was never large, it was not small, but the number of men at least 20 years had already shrunk much in the week since our old world ended.

The leader of the occupation, a tall man with a long scar that ran from his eyebrow down his cheek and twisting over to the remains of his ear, spoke to us. He stood on the steps of the city hall that they had taken for their headquarters.

"A great honor awaits you, my people," he said in his soft voice. It must have been he who had written the posted notices, for those of us who were unfortunate enough to know him well learned soon that he had a taste for sarcasm. "You will choose twelve of your number to serve on a council to govern yourselves on our behalf."

My heart rose a little at that. Surely if we had such an organization, we would be safer. We could stand between the invaders and our women and children and the old ones who were left.

"Those of you chosen, come inside. I will speak to you of your duties. Do not be long. I do not like to wait." With that, he turned on his heel and marched inside, his black leather boots gleaming against the soft yellow stone.

Of course we all spoke at once. We had no leader and no time in which to choose one. We did not doubt that the Captain (for so he was called, that was all the name we knew for him) meant what he said about choosing quickly. In the end, the eldest among us asked for volunteers and I, in my pride, stepped forward. Later, I tried to convince myself that my reasons for volunteering had been subtle and logical, but Mehrunissa's smile told me the truth.

Not that she disapproved. If anything, she had disapproved of my keeping in the background so much. "Good," she said. "Now we'll find out some things."

She was right. I still dream these things at night after twenty years.

* * *

Kharam stopped then and took a drink of wine.

"Rest a while, my friend," Aragorn said softly when Kharam did not continue. "Telling long tales is hard work, and especially ones such as yours. Wait until the morning comes."

Kharam shook his head. "No, it is best if I go on. I do not think I could dare begin again."

I have to confess that I was relieved when Kharam said this. But even though he said he would continue, he still waited a few minutes, sipping his wine. He must have been gathering his thoughts together, organizing them as he said he did in his tower room all those long years ago. It made me sad to think of Kharam's home, for he had made me see it and its people. It also made me think of what Sam said in Ithilien when we first saw man killing man. Dear Sam. He was horrified at the sight but pushed past that and wondered what the dead man had been like, whether he had family and friends who would mourn his passing. There had not been much time to think of it then, but now I knew I had my answer.

I was just about to speak up and say something about the dead Harad man when Kharam cleared his throat and took up the strands of his sad tale again.

I settled back against the cushions. Faramir took my hand and we listened.


End file.
